


Bonfire Heart

by Nyx_Sky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bonfire scene, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, First Kiss, Fluff, Little bit of angst, Love Confession, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyx_Sky/pseuds/Nyx_Sky
Summary: John was in danger.
He had dropped his chips on the floor of 221B as he flung out of the flat onto the street and looked around for a quick way to get to Saint James the Less. He estimated it would take 15 minutes by car, he looked up the road and saw a couple on a motorbike ahead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first "official" fic!
> 
> My take on the bonfire scene but with AGRA. I hate him. I love Amanda to bit though!!

John had startled awake. His mind fuzzy. The last thing he remembered, he was going to see Sherlock after he had revealed that he had been alive for the entirety of the two years, John had been mourning for his suicide.

He had been so livid with Sherlock, he had left him on the pavement with a busted lip and a bloody nose as he took a taxi back to his flat alone.

Now, though. John’s head was throbbing, his throat felt dry and sore that he couldn’t form any words and his body wasn’t responding. He felt so weak and tired. His eyes fluttered close and he faded into oblivion.

Not ten minutes ago, Sherlock had gotten back to Baker Street after solving a few mundane cases. He had asked Molly to accompany him as a way to say thank you, for his plan wouldn’t have worked without her help.

He had been eating some chips when he got a text. He frowned as he read the message, then another message popped up. He quickly realised it was a skip code.

John was in danger.

He had dropped his chips on the floor of 221B as he flung out of the flat onto the street and looked around for a quick way to get to Saint James the Less. He estimated it would take 15 minutes by car, he looked up the road and saw a couple on a motorbike ahead. He stepped into the road and got them to stop. He quickly offered them money and said he’d return it within the hour and they could wait in the cafe; and then he rode off, breaking the speed limit and driving on public walkways and tunnels.

John had woken up again, this time he was slightly more aware of his situation he was in. He could smell dirt, rain and wood, also he could hear people chatting and laughing. Unaware.

He tried to call out for help but the words got caught in his throat and he coughed. John attempted to move, however there were tree branches and planks of wood pinning his down. He was too weak to push them off and escape.

He was scared, he felt like he couldn’t breathe properly. John moved his head, slamming it against something hard and he winced. He tried to scream for help again and came out a small whisper.

Suddenly, John heard a man near, nearer than any has since he’d woken up. He tried to make another sound, to even move but to no avail his body was starting to weaken again and his consciousness was fading in and out.

Without any warning, John’s sense of smell was assaulted by a strong smell of petrol. He started to panic. He tried to move viciously but his body was struggling to do as he commanded from whatever he had been drugged with.

Then, he felt an extreme wave of heat. He realised that he was in a fire. He gathered all the rest of his strength and screamed.

“Help!!”

The crowd of people he heard before, we’re all yelling and screeching in fear and terror now.

“H-elp!” He screamed more desperately. Why weren’t they doing anything!

Then he heard it. He swore he heard his name being called out. That voice. It sounded like Sherlock.

Sherlock would save him.

John heard Sherlock yell out his name again, but he was too tired to call back.

His eyes were getting heavy and it was getting harder and harder to keep them open, as his eyes were shutting, he felt less pinned down and felt something around his wrists, pulling him.

All of a sudden, he was blinking up to the pitch black sky, and sensed a leather gloved hand cupping his face. He tried to focus and saw Sherlock’s face above him.

“Shherr…” He muttered quietly and then slipped into unconsciousness.

  
Sherlock had managed to get to John in time before he received any severe burns. He had thrown wood and tree branches that had been on fire, out the way to get John out. He reached for John’s wrists and pulled him out and safely away from the fire, before kneeling beside his and cupping his face.

Sherlock heard John whisper half his name just moments after passing out completely. He panicked and tapped John’s face while saying his name, but he wouldn’t wake up.

He turned to the crowd of people in shock of what had just happened.

“Has any called an ambulance!?” He demanded.

A woman stepped forward and said she called them and they’d be here within another few minutes.

Sherlock waited, kneeling in the wet grass; checking John’s breathing and pulse every few seconds.

Time seamed to past by so dreadfully slow.

Finally, the paramedics showed up and asked a few questions about John and Sherlock told them everything he knew of his injuries and that he had been drugged with something.

They loaded John into the ambulance, still unconscious and Sherlock watched it leave before getting the motorbike he had abandoned. He promised to return it within the hour and then he’d go up to the hospital to see how John was getting on.

  
An hour and half later, Sherlock had returned the bike to its’ owner and gotten the taxi to the hospital. When he had got there, the doctor in charge of John’s treatment said, that he had a minor concussion, minor burns and a cut on his temple which needed a few stitches. Other than that, John would just have to sleep off the drugs in his system.

Sherlock had been waiting for 3 hour, 4 minutes and 37 seconds exactly at John’s bedside.

Going away for two years and away from John for so long, made him realise his feeling for John. But he wasn’t sure John felt the same as he did. For now, all he knew was that John was really angry with him for not telling him about his fake suicide and hadn’t forgiven him.

He couldn’t figure out who did this, which made it even more annoying and frustrating. Why did they do this? Why to John? What was the point? Was it a threat? He couldn’t think. He was feeling too worried about John.

He watched John’s chest move up and down with each breathe he took. 2 hours, 27 minutes and 9 seconds Sherlock’s hand had reached forward without him noticing until it was holding John’s hand. He hadn’t the mental strength to pull away. The heat of John’s hand, felt reinsurance that he was alive and he’d be okay.

John slowly came to consciousness. His head hurt, his lungs ached and he felt like he’d been ran over by a train. When he got the strength, he slowly opened his eyes and he was greeted with the sight of Sherlock. He froze, he had forgotten for a few seconds that Sherlock was alive and that it wasn’t his imagination.

A soft smile spread across his face and he spoke, “Sherlock.”

He saw Sherlock look up at him and smiled back, he was still holding John’s hand but John hadn’t pulled away, so he must want to keep holding hands. It wasn’t unpleasant. “John.”

Sherlock’s smile fell and he ducked his head down, looking at the floor. “I’m so sorry, for not telling you. I wanted to. But I couldn’t risk putting you, Lestrade or Mrs Hudson in danger.” He paused. “Moriarty had snipers on all three of you that day. But made one big mistake, he didn’t include Molly. I had to fake my death to keep them from shooting you. There was no other way out of it.” Sherlock stayed quiet. He’ll let John process what he just said.

John, the whole time Sherlock was explaining, started to feel really guilty for hurting Sherlock the other night.

He saved John.

Again.

John felt overwhelmed. His eyes watered up. Sherlock was always saving him; in more ways than one and he keeps doing it. His other hand reached out and gently held Sherlock’s chin. He pushed up, so Sherlock was looking at him. He opened his mouth to say something but he didn’t know what to say.

Instead, John shifted forward until his nose was almost touching Sherlock’s. He looked intently into Sherlock’s eyes for a few moments before letting his eyes flicker down to Sherlock’s lips and then looked back into his eyes.

Sherlock caught up quickly and let a shocked breathe out. Did John really want to kiss him?

He nodded his head a little bit and then saw John close the gap that had been between their lips. Their mouths met in a soft, gentle kiss. Apologies and forgiveness.

John’s hand had ended up curling around Sherlock’s cheekbone and Sherlock’s other hand was resting on John’s shoulder. They both parted and couldn’t stop smiling at each other.

“I’m so sorry Sherlock for hurting you the other night, I was just so angry. I didn’t even think about why you did it. I’m sorry.” John spoke quietly. He regretted punching him now.

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand, "I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me?”

“Of course, I forgive you.”

“I forgive you too.”

They both leant forward and their mouths met again, lips caressed against each other and they both felt over joyed. As long as they had each other, everything will be fine and they’ll keep saving the other in more ways than one.

“I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too, John.”


End file.
